


False Hope

by peptobismolbird



Series: The Town of Hope [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, False Identity, False Memories, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:55:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25425733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peptobismolbird/pseuds/peptobismolbird
Summary: Not a whole lot goes on in the town of hope, but there's something that keeps its secrets under wraps. Deputy Hollis begins to find out the hard way what this force is, through the disappearance and re-emergence of one Diana Harper.
Relationships: Diana Harper/Hannah Brooks
Series: The Town of Hope [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1841620
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	False Hope

To be an officer in the town of Hope was an acceptance of general boredom, resigning to paperwork. We spent more time assisting with festivals and parades, ensuring everything was following proper safety protocols, than we spent dealing with any kind of crime. All simply because nothing ever happened in Hope, it was the most boring, normal place in the world. A place where nothing happened. The most serious thing that the sheriff and I had to deal with was giving a shoplifter a slap on the wrist. The kid had only taken a bag of beef jerky on a dare, and the general store owner, Vincent, was far too insistent on punishing him. We talked to him about peer pressure, and in the end, I bought the in question bag of jerky for him anyway.

His name was Jack, and he was a genuinely nice kid, even if he was beyond gullible. Some older kids told him a story, something about a rule of rumors. I didn’t fully pay attention to his story, knowing full well it was a thing older kids made up to bully the gullible ones into doing stupid things for their own amusement. I sent him on his way, and promised I wouldn’t tell his mom. That happened about five years ago, and if it was the only exciting thing to happen, you can only begin to imagine how painfully dull those five years were. So dull that I began to wish for something, anything, to happen. Horrible, I know, and I came to regret it, because about two weeks ago, something finally happened.

It wasn't abnormal, not at first. A lady cheated on her boyfriend, and someone saw it happen. That doesn't have anything to do with me, so I didn't see any need for me to pay attention to it. In retrospect, I probably should have given it at least a second glance. The two got into an argument in their apartment, and it escalated into a fight. Things were thrown, bottles broken, and the boyfriend was stabbed in the thigh. He's since recovered, and the situation simmered down. We weren't able to find the woman, Diana Harper, for questioning. 

This was a few days ago, and Diana had disappeared from town. Given the guy wasn't going to press charges or anything, I didn’t pay it much mind. Not when she wasn’t at the cafe the first morning, or even the second. That kind of thing was relatively normal. Every so often, people needed to find themselves after a distressing event. They would drop from the map for a day or two, and come back on the second or third morning. They would be fine, and things would continue on as normal. Whatever happened with Diana and the altercation was obviously distressing. It made perfect sense that after getting caught in the act of cheating, then such a heated argument, she would want exactly that. While she didn't show up the third morning, there wasn't any reason to declare her missing. Apparently Diana did come back, for just a little while. Her friend recieved a note she left, about how she was leaving town for a while. Everything made sense, until it didn't. Until today.

Today started like every other day, sitting in the station with a cup of coffee, the local news on TV while I sorted through paperwork. And just like everyday, at exactly eight in the morning, sheriff Keith would walk through the door like clockwork. Today was no different, the door swinging open at exactly eight, the sheriff’s voice following after.

“Mornin’ Hollis, you make any headway on all that crap we need sorted for the Christmas parade?” He asked, walking over to his desk and dropping into his chair. He set his coffee down on his desk, and opened up a white box. More cake doughnuts was my assumption.

“Yeah, I’m about halfway through,” I told him, “But I’ll have to go visit Ms. Brooks again, I’m starting to think she needs glasses or something. She keeps messing up her permit paperwork, so I’m gonna go through it with her. Still, for being in her eighties, she’s going strong.”

“She always says if she slows down, the years will catch up to her,” The Sheriff said, a jovial laugh following his voice. I laughed too, not knowing what was to come when the phone rang. It was the granddaughter of Ms. Brooks, calling about one Diana Harper. I didn't think there was anything more to this incident, but I was wrong.

Because earlier this morning, Diana had been found, underneath the small bridge that led into town. Her clothes were caked in mud, ripped, stained a filthy red in several spots on her arms and legs. Her face covered in scrapes and bruises, a deep, puffy darkness taking up residence underneath her eyes. Her hair was wild, sticking out in all different directions, disgustingly dirty. She reeked of sewage, a putrid scent that was impossible to face without gagging. In her hands, she clutched an envelope, stained in blood. The one I'm holding now. Whatever happened to Diana Harper, it was clear it was more than just skipping town. Hannah brought her to the station, to where she was sitting now. She hasn't said a word, hasn't stopped shaking, or even opened her eyes. Her arms still wrapped around her knees, still holding herself.

As I look at the envelope, it fills me with a dread that I can't even begin to describe. The longer I look in silence, the deeper my heart sinks. The air continues to thicken with tension as every second passes without a sound. I don't know what to say, holding the stained envelope in my hands. Just like Diana, it smells of sewage and a thick, unsettling scent of burnt circuits.

"Are you sure you want to be here for this? Whatever is in here, it probably isn't good," I ask Hannah. I hope that she'll say no, that some horror doesn't unfold before her eyes. The poor girl has already been through a lot. Her eyes are puffy from tears, dark circles formed underneath giving a good indication of how she had been sleeping lately. She nods her head yes, and I sigh. I can only imagine how much Diana means to her. It was an answer I should have expected. With a small knife, I cut open the envelope. I reach inside and pull out a small, rectangular device. A voice recorder? I examine it further.

"Looks like there's something on it, chief. It's a bit stained, and it smells, but I think it'll play." I say. Sitting next to me, Keith gives me a nod. I begin to fiddle around with the buttons until the lights stir to life. Out comes a voice, slightly distorted by gunk caught within the device, the sound of dripping water in the background. It's shaky, all around poor quality, but it’s audible.

The voice of Diana.

"If you are listening to this recording, then you are already aware that this story does not have a happy ending. I cannot even be sure that the story has ended, or if it was only a single chapter, another to be found at the turn of a page. I can't say what condition you'll find me in, but I can be sure it won't be a good one. This is going to explain everything. If it is happiness you seek, or even if what you seek is something as simple as finalization, then you are perhaps in the wrong place, for you will find neither of those here. You will be asked to question everything you remember, question what is real and what is not. If you aren't willing to do so, turn off the recording, and return the device to its envelope. Whatever questions have brought you to open it are best left unanswered. If you are here for truth, and truth alone, then I recommend taking a seat. This is not a short account.

My name is Diana Harper, from a quiet town just outside the monongahela national forest called Hope. I have lived in the town of Hope for all twenty three years of my life, to this point. I was captain of the swim team in highschool, and even if our local college had no official swimming program, I kept swimming. My two year degree didn’t end up being much use to me, other than being a fancy piece of paper to indicate how I wasted exactly two years. For the last three years, I’ve worked at a small cafe near the center of town, and lived in a small, one bedroom apartment with my closest friend. Her name is Hannah. Very little of this is relevant to the ending of this story, but it’s important to me that you know this. My name is Diana Harper, and these memories are mine. From my first kiss, to the first time I drank myself into oblivion on my twenty first birthday, to the medals I earned as highschool swim captain, they are all proof that I am still me, for these memories can belong only to myself.

The memories I hold dearest, and the memories most relevant to the beginning of what's happened to me, are every moment shared with Hannah Brooks. Whatever you may believe about what happened, what I supposedly did, please understand that Hannah means more to me than I ever thought possible. More than I can understand, or put words to. Even if she doesn't remember that, I still do. I won't let that fade anymore than it already has. If you've heard anything about what happened, then you know that Hannah has been my closest friend ever since we were little. The moment I saw her smile, I never had eyes for anyone else. I know it. I can remember it. How important she is to me, to Diana Harper."

I look to Hannah, who has since moved from the table to Diana's side. Her hand is on the shoulder of her trembling friend, though Diana says nothing. I'm not even sure she notices.

"Two weeks ago, the downward spiral began. Hannah came right before closing, as she often did, and kept me company while I cleaned. I made her something to eat before I wrapped up. It took me longer than usual, something was on my mind. Something I needed to say. I can't remember what it is, no matter how important it feels. I don't even know if I said it. The next thing I remember is Hannah leaving the cafe, tears staining her cheeks. I'm not sure why, because I don't think they were bad tears. I think I was happy, excited even. That was when I saw it, out of the corner of my eye. Lurking by the window, disappearing as soon as I turned my head. A shadow of a figure, but I thought nothing of it at the moment. It was, after all, five in the afternoon and in a small town like this, people walked home all the time. I didn't think about it again until the next morning.

When I woke up, there was a horrible weight on my chest. It sunk down, twisted into my gut. I could feel it eating away at me from the inside out, taking away my breath, leaving me covered in sweat. I couldn’t tell you where, or how, but I saw it again. The figure in the window, the silhouette of a person lurking just in the corner of my eye. Maybe I had dreamt of it, of the person who saw. Saw what? I couldn’t remember. I didn’t feel it then, but I felt it now. I felt it’s stare burning into my skin, lasting long after it disappeared from the window. The burning that spread throughout my skin, and the guilt that followed. At the time, I didn’t know what I had to be guilty of, where that feeling came from. What had I done wrong? Even though I know now, the feeling hasn’t left. The weight of that guilt, completely undeserving. I didn’t do anything wrong.

But I understand that by the time anyone hears this, nobody is going to believe me. You all heard the story. From a friend, who heard it from a friend. All from the one person who saw. The supposed boyfriend, cheating, and whatever other horrible things I can't remember. Maybe you think I killed him, I don't know. It doesn't matter. I’m going to need you to bear with me, whoever you are, whoever is listening. If you really think, you won’t find any memory of him that doesn’t connect to me. You won’t find any transcripts of him at schools, any birth certificates, any legal documents. You won’t even find mail. You’ll think you’ve seen him, met him, seen us together, but the details will be impossible to grasp. I never lived with him, or anything else, because he isn’t real. He was never real. I know this because I can remember the truth. The only person left in this town who can remember is Diana, is me."

I look to Sheriff Keith, and he looks back at me. We spoke to him earlier in the week, I was sure of it. I never paid any mind to other people's relationships, but I've seen him around town before. Except the details of each encounter were slipping my mind, just like she said they would. The time we met, what he wore, what he looked like. I knew just about everyone in town, and what they did. I couldn't remember his job, if he was raised here or if he moved here. Memory was fickle, though, and in a stressful situation, it's harder to remember. Kieth seems to have the same line of thought, moving from the chair next to me to his computer.

"I know it sounds crazy, but please, entertain whatever is left of me when you find this. I might not be able to talk, or do anything at all. I might not even be alive. Once you start looking, you’ll understand, because you’ve seen it, too. The figure in your dreams, the silhouette. It looks human, it looks so familiar but it's face will escape you, and it watches from every shadow until you go to sleep. It puts these seeds into your head, lets them flourish while you dream. Every night, it does this. Everytime you go to sleep, until the truth that everyone remembers is the truth it gives you. 

But I remember, because I haven’t gone to sleep. I can’t tell you exactly how long it’s been since I’ve slept, but it feels like years. I can’t bring myself to close my eyes, because if I do, if I fall asleep, I’ll lose another memory. The chance that the memory I lose could be a memory of Hannah, being replaced by some non-existent man, meant sleep was impossible. I would never risk that. I don’t even know why anymore, but I know that for whatever reason, I simply can’t. Those memories are too precious to me, and I’m the only person left who can cherish them. Not even Hannah can, anymore..

When it started, she was one of the few people who believed in me, who knew that something wasn’t right. She was always by my side, after all, we kept nothing from each other. We were close as close could be. I didn’t think anything could change that. She started forgetting, too. Her memories slowly being warped and replaced by things I couldn't remember happen, but couldn't dispute. That was when she stopped believing in me, stopped coming to the apartment we shared. She didn't remember it being hers, and for some reason, I doubted it, too. Regardless of what I remembered, I couldn't sleep without her there. That's when I noticed, overhead talk of things I had supposedly done, things about this guy, that I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt were false. It had gotten to everyone. There was one more memory left, though, that had to be given."

Sheriff Keith comes back over to the table from his desk, taking a seat next to me. He doesn't need to say anything to me, not with the look he's wearing on his face. Eyes wide, biting his lower lip, all the color drained from his face. Whatever he saw wasn't good.

"This was the last memory it gave the town before it's work was done. Before it was time. By then, it must have been a few days since I had slept. I was coming back from the general store, another pack of energy drinks to get me through the night, and a handheld voice recorder. With everything that was happening, I wanted to document my memories. In case I fell asleep, or something else happened. During those nights, to keep myself awake, I had taken to cleaning the apartment. Not just cleaning, but organizing everything, going as far as to label things. Which meant when I swung open that door, I expected it to be as flawless as I left it.

It wasn't. The kitchen table was on its side, one of the chairs broken and another pushed a good distance away. The glass remains of a cheap bottle of wine littered the floor, the deep crimson liquid forming a puddle in the kitchen. The other half of the bottle was sitting on the countertop. I dropped my bag when I saw it standing there, leaning against the counter. It was, for a brief second, the silhouette I had seen in my dreams. It stared at me, the shadow breaking to form a smile that curled up to where it's ears would be.

It laughed, if you could even call it laughter. It was a horrible, guttural noise, strained and forced. It sounded like something was dying. Then it started to change, it's whole body and with it, it's laugh. Within the span of a few seconds, the laugh had become one I recognized with ease. Moments later, I could recognize the rest of it. Not as a monster from a story, or anything of the sort, because it was staring at me with my own face. It laughed with my laugh, reached out for the neck of the broken bottle with hands that looked exactly like mine in every minute detail. Everything was the same, except for its eyes. They were solid black, sleek and shimmering.

Looking at it, my blood ran cold. It seemed so pleased with itself, as if it were proud if it's work. It walked towards me, shattered bottle in hand, and all I could do was stare. Every muscle had frozen inside of me, every trace of thought replaced with a gripping fear. The scream had gotten caught in my throat, as did all my questions. There was malice in it's empty eyes, pure and unrestrained. I don't think trying to fight would have made a difference to whatever happened next. Not that I can remember what actually happened, only darkness.

I remembered an altercation, stabbing something in the leg with a broken bottle. But I didn't have the bottle, and the face I remember.. It was mine, down to every detail. Eyes included. Because of that, I know this memory isn't real. It can't be, because I'm Diana Harper. I'm not sure what it gave the rest of the town, but whatever it is, I know it isn't good. I can feel the same weight I did on the first night, but it's worse now, the weight heavier. And now I'm completely alone.

I woke up here, wherever here is. Sewers, if the smell is anything to go off. It reeks of crap and decay, fills the air like a thick fog. There isn't any avoiding it. I can't see much more than a foot in front of me, and I'm not really sure I want to. I can feel eyes on me from every direction, and every drip of water just sets me off. I need to finish this recording, but.. I'm afraid it'll find me before I can. I know it's searching, I can feel it. The ice gripping my heart, squeezing it tight as it tries to stop it beating. I saw things I wasn't supposed to see, and there's no way it can let me get out.

I don’t know what it wants, but this isn’t the first time this has happened. You won’t want to remember, it might even hurt to try. I’ve seen it, though. There are people in our town who vanished for a day or two, left without a trace, only to return as if nothing happened. It was after they had done something. You won’t remember what, and neither will they. Because every so often, people need to find themselves after a distressing event, right? And when they come back, everything is completely normal again.

Except they didn’t come back. Not one of them has ever come back, and for some reason, I doubt that I’ll be the first one to do so. At least not whole, anyway. That's what I saw, why it won't let me leave. I saw what it’s doing, what it really is. I didn't mean to find it, it was just.. so, so dark. The smell was overwhelming, I just wanted to get home. I just want to see Hannah again. It was so horrible, I can still see it in the darkness, burned into my mind. I can't get away from it. My skin is always crawling, I feel like it's creeping into my blood, into my heart, and it's so cold. What I saw - Please, please tell Hannah I love her, please-"

Her shaky voice, broken by sobs, suddenly went silent. For a few moments, there's nothing, only the sound of dripping water, and then comes a static buzz. It's deafening, ringing out through the station, drowning out everything. I shut it off, letting silence take its place. We don't say anything, the information sinking it. But I notice something, something I probably should have noticed earlier. Diana, from her spot on the bench, is muttering something under her breath.

"Ms. Brooks," I say, my voice shaking. I just pieced together something in my mind, and the conclusion I found stops my heart in its tracks. I swallow. "Could you please step away from Ms. Harper?"

"What.. What do you mean? Why?" She asks me, and a tight grimace forms on my face. I don't think I can give her a proper answer. I can see the tears streaming down her cheeks, and I wish I knew what to tell her.

"Just come over here, next to the sheriff and I. Please." I plead, and wave her over to me. Diana still mutters under her breath, rocking where she sits. Reluctantly, Hannah steps over next to sheriff Keith and I.

"What's the matter, Hollis?" 

I don't answer. I set down the recording device, and walk over to Diana. I place a hand on her shoulder, and smile, "Ms. Harper? Can you look at me, Ms. Harper?"

She looks up, eyes still clamped shut. Her body is still trembling. I can finally hear what she's muttering..

And she opens her eyes.


End file.
